


Ratchet X Reader – Christmas Gifts

by writeyouin



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Christmas, Enjoy SADNESS, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyouin/pseuds/writeyouin
Summary: Request: If you wouldn't mind I would like a Christmas ask where the s/o makes Ratchet a homemade blanket, like knitted it themselves as a gift for him anonymously but he later finds out it was them. Please and thank you. Love your work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – I actually wrote this pre-relationship because I wasn’t paying attention to where my mind was taking me, I hope that’s okay. Also…. I accidently let this ask get a bit angsty, my bad.

Ratchet glared at the base distastefully, unable to ignore the vibrant colours around the room, almost like a solar storm had thrown up there. How was he ever supposed to get anything done when the room was so distracting? What was the point in so many tiny lights on string? Why not simply have one large light? Then there were the coloured paper rings that served no purpose, along with a tree decorated with what was supposed to be a star yet looked nothing like one. Were humans so determined to be inaccurate that they completely ignored the fact that stars were great big balls of gas that would burn them alive on contact. “Bah,” he spat.

“Humbug,” You finished, giggling at his bad attitude from the sofa on the balcony above.

“(Y/N),” He said, surprised you were there. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I don’t know Ratchet, it could be that I stayed here all night because you were supposed to take me home and forgot to while the others were away.”

“What… Oh yes.” Ratchet distinctly remembered that he’d been in charge of you until he’d left you in favour of work where he’d forgotten about you completely. Had you really slept there last night? If you’d have only made yourself known, he would have taken you home, or perhaps let you use his hab-suite. After all, there was nothing wrong with that, right? It’s not like he would have been in there with you and… what was he thinking? Ratchet quickly snapped his mind back to the present. “I presume you are responsible for defacing the base last night?”

“Yes Ratchet,” You said sarcastically, “I lugged a twenty-foot tree in by myself, and while I was at it, did you know I also defeated Megatron and became the ruler of the free world?”

Had it of been anyone else, Ratchet would have berated the sardonic reply, however since it was you he chuckled, hiding it behind a fake cough which you saw right through.

“Fine, since you clearly weren’t behind this, who was, your royal highness?”

“The other bots returned last night, so I’ll give you a clue, it starts with a bumble and ends in a bee.”

“And Bumblebee didn’t offer to take you home after his degenerative vandalism?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. In truth, you’d pretended to be asleep because you were tired and didn’t want to go, plus you had a bet going with Miko to try and see who was the latest sleeper of the lot; she thought it was going to be Bulkhead but you had a sneaky suspicion it would be Arcee. “Come on Ratchet, they’d all just come back from some tough recon work. They were tired and had to recharge; even Optimus for scrap’s sake.”

“You used that wrong,” Ratchet said, referring to your Cybertronian bad language.

“Oh… For frags sake?”

“Language,” He warned.

“No fair, you set me up.”

“You set yourself up, now help me get this scrap down.”

Ratchet reached up, wrapping his servo around some tinsel. “No,” You called out. “Come on, leave it up.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas, Ratchet. It’s nice to have this stuff up this time of year.”

“Bah, Christmas. (Y/N), we as Cybertronians don’t celebrate Christmas, all of this is devoid of meaning to us.”

You pouted childishly, “Do you even know what Christmas is or what it’s about?”

“I know enough. I know it’s a rather selfish holiday for people to guilt presents out of other people. A materialistic excuse of a holiday if you ask me.”

“Then you don’t understand at all. It’s about spending time with friends and loved ones. It’s about telling old stories and making new memories. Christmas is about fun and acceptance and love. As for the gifts, well, they’re just the icing on the cake, because it shows that you’re appreciated by those around you. Now let go of that tinsel or I’ll… I’ll jump from this balcony and break a rib,” You dead-panned, even though you had no intention of doing so.

Ratchet tutted annoyedly, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, you think I wouldn’t do it? ‘Cos I’ll do it right now. I have twenty-four ribs and I ain’t scared of breaking one.”

Ratchet knew you were joking; after being part of a four-million year war he was used to fatalistic humour. All the same, he didn’t like hearing you talk like that. He let go of the tinsel, “Fine, have your silly holiday, though I assure you I’ll take no part in it.”

Ratchet’s answer still disappointed you, though you hoped once he found that he had a gift under the tree, he might change his mind; on the off chance he didn’t, you were glad you never put your name on the tag.

“Fine,” You said somewhat huffily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bet with Miko to win.”

Ratchet didn’t ask more, he had the distinct feeling that he’d offended you by insulting your traditions. Occasionally, you had been known to ask him about what Cybertron used to be like before the war and not once had you insulted his planet or culture; why couldn’t he act civil for once? At this rate you’d never see how much he liked and appreciated you, though maybe that was for the better. Ratchet sighed, leaving the suddenly cloying room in favour of his hab-suite, where he buried himself in work.

* * *

 

On Christmas day, the base was buzzing with noise, mostly from Bumblebee and Bulkhead who were exchanging Christmas stories Raf and Miko had told them, now and then Arcee would add an anecdote from Jack to bring the human trio, who were at home with their families, into the holiday spirit; even Optimus listened, forgetting work for one day in favour of learning some human culture.

Ratchet distanced himself from the chatting group, regretting now that he hadn’t listened to you more, so he could bring your very essence to the conversation. What would he say when Bumblebee was talking about family meals, and Bulkhead was bringing up Christmas concerts? Somehow, mentioning that you’d threatened to jump of a balcony didn’t feel like it matched the Christmas spirit.

On the side-lines, Ratchet still couldn’t see the appeal of the holiday and now he was starting to think he wouldn’t. Then, later in the day, the gift giving began. Everyone had something from each other, but the bots fell quiet as they realised that nobody had gotten anything for Ratchet, each assuming that the others would do so, it had even slipped Optimus’ processor, though he hadn’t got gifts for anyone and hadn’t expected any at all for himself. Fortunately, Bumblebee saw a parcel wrapped in brown paper under the tree with Ratchet’s name on a large tag; thank Primus, one of the humans had pulled through. Bumblebee beeped and whistled, offering the gift to Ratchet.

“What?” Ratchet said, shocked by Bumblebee’s words. “What do you mean there’s something for me?”

Bumblebee chirped happily, passing the present to the old medic then turning his attention to the gift Raf had got him, unwrapping it with child-like glee.

Ratchet didn’t pay attention to the others, instead he gently held the tag on his gift, looking for anything that would reveal who it was from. Why wasn’t there a name on it? He carefully unwrapped it, pulling out a perfectly-sized, red, green and white knitted blanket. He rubbed the material gently between two digits, silently marvelling how soft it was. Who would take the time to make such a precious gift for him? He glanced at the bots around him, thankful that they were too distracted with their previous conversation to notice him.

He paused, thinking through the puzzle analytically. His optics travelled over Optimus, but no, the Autobot leader would never have enough time to make something so time-consuming. Bulkhead? Definitely not, the heavy-handed wrecker broke more than he fixed. Arcee simply didn’t have the patience, and Bumblebee, though he probably would have made a good effort couldn’t make something so intricate on his first attempt.

Ratchet considered the few humans he knew. He certainly hoped it wasn’t Fowler, and June would be too busy at the hospital. He’d seen Miko and Jack’s home economics projects which were a mess at best. Raf was a brilliant mind and he certainly had enough siblings to know how to sew and knit, yet the blanket simply didn’t feel like Raf. Ratchet’s spark dipped dizzily; he knew only one other human.

Quietly, he got up, setting the ground bridge to coordinates near you, and messaging you to meet him once he got there.

“Where are you going, old friend?” Optimus asked as the ground-bridge opened.

Ratchet ignored the other bots as all optics went to him, “I have some… business to attend to. I will be back shortly.”

He transformed into his alt-mode, driving through the ground bridge to the secluded meeting spot he’d chosen where he waited, hoping you would arrive at all considering how rude he had been during your last conversation.

It was around half an hour later when you finally reached him in your own car. “Ratchet,” You said concernedly, “Is something wrong? I got your message and-”

“What did you tell your family?” The talking ambulance in front of you asked.

“Um- just that I’d forgot to drop a present off to a friend’s house. Look, I don’t have long so-”

“Thank you… for the gift.”

You stared hard at the floor, blushing slightly, “What gift?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. Just because you didn’t put your name on the tag doesn’t mean I didn’t know it was from you. Is that where you were all those nights you didn’t come to the base? I thought-” Ratchet caught himself, falling silent.

“Thought what?” You asked, finding his silence curious.

Ratchet said nothing. He didn’t want to admit that he and the others believed you were seeing someone; mostly he didn’t want to admit it because it hurt to think about.

“Well uh… it takes a lot of nights to make something that big,” You admitted sheepishly, picking the conversation back up.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Ratchet mumbled grumpily.

You smiled, pressing your head against the ambulance’s side, “I didn’t do it to get something back.”

Ratchet offlined his optics, imagining for a moment a world in which he was human, or you were Cybertronian where he’d be able to hold you, kiss you, and call you his; it was a minute of pure self-indulgence. Little did he know, you were imagining the same thing there and then, though to you it didn’t matter that you were two very different species, for you would give Ratchet everything you had if he only said the word. Ratchet shook himself out of his fantasy, “I have to go.”

You nodded sadly, “Yeah… I have to get back to my family before they miss me.”

“Goodbye (Y/N).”

“Bye Ratchet, I’ll see you at the base,” You got in your car, driving off.

Ratchet waited till you were a dot in the distance before transforming back to his root-mode and openly letting himself weep.


	2. CHAPTER 2 COMING UP SOON

Hey, this one got very popular so imma make a chapter two with a happy ending, before y'all end me ^_^


	3. What If?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – After y’all broke into my house and held a knife to my throat, I wrote this. Please, don’t make me Paul Sheldon in Misery, I’ll do whatever you say.

You. Everywhere Ratchet looked, he found traces of you. You were in the base, and even when you weren’t, he often found items you left behind. You invaded his processor, especially when the nights got long and lonely. Primus! You were in the very air itself, Ratchet could practically taste when you were nearby. It didn’t matter that you didn’t come to the base as often anymore since he’d began avoiding you, Ratchet still couldn’t forget his desire for you when you were everywhere.

Ratchet was doing everything in his power to stop his feelings for you, but it was no good. It didn’t matter that he locked himself in his hab-suite whenever you were in the bunker or that he buried himself in work for a distraction, because his processor always dared to challenge him and ask the impossible question; _what if?_

What if he could be with you? What if you felt the same way as him? What if an inter-species relationship was possible? What if? What if? What if?

Ratchet growled and shook himself, relieved that nobody was around to see him so worked up,  yet contrarily annoyed that the others were not around to provide him with a distraction. His optics travelled to his berth where your blanket was draped neatly, the only splash of colour in a room devoid of any other personal items. It wouldn’t be so bad if Ratchet could bring himself to throw the blanket away, but he couldn’t; the woven string meant far too much to him. Ratchet offlined his optics momentarily so he couldn’t see your gift, but it did him no good.

Wearily, he decided to get back to work, trying once again to create a synthetic version of energon, if only to keep himself busy. After reviewing his notes, he headed into the bunker, stopping dead when he saw you, unpacking an overnight bag as if you’d never left. When had you got there? He didn’t recall hearing any of the other bots dropping you off, but then again, he’d been entirely distracted.

Uncomfortable memories ensnared Ratchet, forcing him to relive the pain he felt on Christmas day. Everything about the memory was so vivid, Ratchet could almost feel you resting your head against his alt-mode like you had then.

_What if…?_

He clamped down hard on the thought, refusing to indulge himself with the answers his mind sought. So what if the two of you had shared something remotely intimate then; what did it matter when nothing could come of it?

“Excuse me,” Ratchet croaked, turning on his heel and thinking of the sanctuary of his hab-suite.

“Ratchet,” You pleaded.

Ratchet shuddered, hating the longing he was sure he’d imagined in your tone. He couldn’t face you, but he did stop, inclining his helm slightly to the side to show he was listening.

You weren’t sure quite what to say, having not expected to get as far as you had when you saw him; it was the first time since Christmas that you’d seen him. “You- You’ve been avoiding me,” You said, hurt that you had to bring it up.

“I’ve been busy,” Ratchet responded coldly.

“Did I do something… wrong?”

Ratchet hated the pain he was causing you; he hadn’t anticipated that losing a friend would cause you such grief. Despite that, he clung tightly to his resolve, leaving you in favour of his hab-suite, “I have work to do.”

Despite wishing to remain calm, you couldn’t help the messy sobs that escaped you as you broke down, losing the bot you loved to something you didn’t understand. Ratchet gritted his dentae and walked away, feeling the toxic hit of self-loathing he was growing accustomed to.

Running as fast as you could with tear-impaired vision, you went into the bunker, searching wildly for Raf’s laptop. The only thing fuelling your actions was the need to escape the base as soon as possible. You’d seen Raf open the ground-bridge from his laptop before and hoped it would be relatively easy to do so yourself.

The second the laptop started up, it became increasingly obvious that you had no idea what you were doing. You pressed a random mix of keys desperately, becoming frustrated when nothing happened. Occasionally you would look to the spot where the ground bridge usually appeared, willing it to life, even if it took you to another country for all you cared.

Throwing the laptop down, you stood where the bridge was supposed to be. “Please,” You whimpered. “Please open.”

While you begged every deity you knew of to help you find an escape from the base, Ratchet sat in his hab-suite, clutching the blanket you’d made for him close to his chassis, unsure of whether he wanted to keep it or tear it in two. Why hadn’t he at least been civil? It wasn’t your fault he was avoiding you. He let the blanket fall into his lap, holding his helm in his servos; they were supposed to be the servos of a healer, if that was true, why couldn’t he remove the pain from he felt now?

Ratchet’s wallowing was disturbed by three sounds in quick succession; no matter how much he would later try, he would never be able to forget those sounds. The first was screeching tyres, followed closely by an energon-curdling scream that ended all too quickly with a sickening thud.

Ratchet ran from his room, stopping short when he saw Bulkhead standing over your unconscious body, apparently in a state of shock. What had happened was obvious, nevertheless Bulkhead tried to explain, stammering shakily throughout, “I was- (s)he- (s)he was just in front of the ground bridge when I- I didn’t even see- and then I crashed and (s)he went over my bonnet- I- I-”

Ratchet could have listened to Bulkhead ramble, he could have stared at the blood dripping lazily from a gash on your temple, he could have fixated on the last, awful words he’d said to you. Instead, he snapped into action, using every precious second he had to save your life before it was too late.

* * *

Nauseous. That was the first thing you felt when you regained consciousness. The second was the realisation that something heavy seemed to be weighing you down, though you lacked the energy to open your eyes and see what was going on. You weren’t surprised by the nausea you felt, however you were surprised that you remembered everything prior to whatever was going on now. After being run over by a car, or in your case a Cybertronian, you would have expected not to remember anything at all.

All too suddenly, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the pain that had apparently woken up when you tried to move. You gritted your teeth, groaning miserably.

“Don’t move,” Ratchet’s familiar voice warned. “Your left leg is fractured in two places, your left arm is broken, and I suspect you have a concussion.”

You opened your eyes, blinking rapidly until they managed to focus on the old doc-bot who was stood over you, blocking out the merciless lights above. You glanced down, hoping to see the damage that had befell you, but only finding the heavy blanket you had kitted for Ratchet, draped protectively over you.

“Huh, so you’re not too busy to talk to me now,” You croaked pitifully, trying to mask your pain with a joke.

Ratchet moved away quickly, and you grimaced as the light burned your eyes. “You should be left to rest. I’m sorry to say I can’t give you any more medication to relieve the pain.”

“Hey, don’t move a muscle, we have a lot to talk about, and I’m clearly not going anywhere.”

Ratchet sighed, coming back to your side, knowing that the problem at hand had to be resolved.

You smiled weakly, “Huh, if I’d of known all it took was Bulk slamming into me to get you to talk, I would have done it sooner.”

Ratchet’s gaze darkened as you resorted to fatalistic humour again. “Don’t talk about that bumbling oaf to me!”

“Woah Ratchet, roll back the hate, we both know it was my fault Bulkhead-”

“Don’t defend that **idiot!** ”

You frowned annoyedly, “Quit being mean, it was an accident.”

“ _He’s_ an accident.”

“Ugh, you’re like a bitter old woman, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Don’t turn this on me. It’s not my fault Bulkhead always breaks the things I need.”

You swallowed thickly, finding it difficult with a tongue seemingly made of sandpaper. You didn’t have to ask the meaning behind Ratchet’s words, everything in the suddenly heavy atmosphere told you he meant you. You waited for him to get defensive and take the words back, but he didn’t. His optics bore into you and he wondered again, _what if?_ You felt the question in the air as well, however unlike Ratchet, you dared to ask it.

“Ratchet,” You murmured, struggling to sit up and barely holding back the bile that threatened vomit when you did. After a second to regain your composure, you spoke again, “I keep thinking about… us. What if-”

“(Y/N),” Ratchet pleaded sorrowfully, “don’t.”

“But-”

“No, I can’t- I can’t be what’s best for you.”

“You already are,” You murmured softly. “I don’t want to lose our friendship by saying it, but I-” You hesitated as your befuddled mind struggled under waves of pain to put your feelings into words. You finished by simply saying, “I want you.”

Ratchet’s optics grew wide. He no longer had to ask _what if?_ Because you’d answered it and now there was nothing in the way of a relationship he’d only dreamed of. All the same, he shook his head, “I can’t be with you.”

If you had to choose between the physical pain of your injuries or the heartache you felt upon hearing those words, you would have picked the injuries because the feeling of rejection was like a thousand daggers slicing at your breast, digging in until they could stab your vulnerable heart.

“At least,” Ratchet added, “not until you’ve recovered.”

“What?” You said pitifully, biting back tears.

“Doctors should never date their patients (Y/N)… but after that, I don’t see anything else standing in our way.”

You gurgled a messy laugh, “ **Never** scare me like that again.”

If Ratchet wasn’t concerned with your health, he would have kissed you then, as it was however, he settled for resting his servo over yours, “Please rest now, we can talk more later.”

You complied, mumbling something Ratchet didn’t catch.

He tucked you in. “Sleep well (Y/N), I’ll be waiting for you.”


End file.
